


Between Restless Spaces

by CreativeSweets, TheDarkSide



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Bugs & Insects, Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Senju Tobirama, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeSweets/pseuds/CreativeSweets, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkSide/pseuds/TheDarkSide
Summary: Tobirama goes to Japan to learn about his heritage, and gets roped into participating in a festival.It's either very fortunate, or very unfortunate his heat is about to begin.It's also either very fortunate, or very unfortunate that he's about to learn that the omukade in the woods is more than just a myth.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Senju Tobirama
Comments: 19
Kudos: 179





	Between Restless Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> This is an RP between myself and Dark, that we finally finished up and that I edited. So if there's any glaring mistakes, they're mine aha
> 
> Hashirama is a human/centipede hybrid, and is referred to as an _omukade_. Human top half, looooong centipede bottom half. If insects/monsters aren't your thing, there's a back button. Otherwise—
> 
> Please enjoy!

Tobirama knows he’s adopted, he’s known for a very, very long time. He cannot blame his adoptive parents for raising him in _their_ culture and attempting to teach him about his birth culture through classes. But it was never enough, and so Tobirama took a risk, and decided to move to Japan to get closer to his heritage.

The train puttered to a stop and Tobirama exits excitedly. The place he chose to live is still some ways away since there’s no train stations there, but all the better. There can’t be anything more authentic than living where there’s only dirt roads and rice paddies.

The village representative is waiting for him with a car, and they trade pleasantries on the drive. Tobirama learns of a festival coming up, something about an _omukade_ and hears about the many ways the village appeases the unfriendly yokai that haunts as much as protects them. It unsettles him, when there’s a break in the conversation long enough for Tobirama to look up just what, exactly, an _omukade_ is.

But all old villages have specific traditions and festivals that cater towards the land they sit on. Even if they’re based on mythological creatures. Tobirama just hopes that this festival isn’t an indicator that there will be many centipedes crawling about.

The village is certainly bustling about, shouts ringing out as decorations are hung up and wooden beams moved about. There’s two weeks until the festival, and yet the people seem to hurry about like it’s going to happen tomorrow. But perhaps they’re simply excited. With all the lights and beginning decorations, even Tobirama is excited.

Settling his meager belongings into his (thankfully, but only just) affordable apartment takes less than a day, and sleeping off the jet lag takes another. He freely walks around the village, and finds himself the center of attention. Of course, it’s to be expected, he _is_ new—but he thinks it might have to do more with the fact he’s an omega.

It tastes a bit sour, but Tobirama swallows that pill down since everyone else seems to be either a beta or alpha. He supposes it’s not unusual, in a village this small, for there not to be any omegas. Some more precautions will need to be taken come his heat. Which, judging from his calendar, is set to happen just after the festival. Being up and around in pre-heat isn’t the most pleasant thing, but Tobirama would hate to miss this festival.

Five days before the festival, the village representative checks in on him and brings a couple people for him to meet. The older couple is in charge of running and coordinating the festival, and when Tobirama offers his help they look like he just hung the moon.

It takes a few repeated sentences for Tobirama to figure out that they want him to...dress up and walk around the forest? Apparently it’s to calm the omukade and they offer an outrageous incentive. A whole year’s worth of rent? All for just, walking around the forest for a few hours to “appease the guardian omukade”.

The _real_ hazards are probably only hurt feet, perhaps a twisted ankle because he won’t be allowed _shoes_ nor a flashlight. But a whole year’s worth of rent.

It’s a no-brainer.

Tobirama grits his teeth as the hands on him feel like sandpaper. His heat is coming on a little before schedule and pre-heat is a terrible time for physical closeness. It’s even more embarrassing when, as part of the ceremony and tradition, they clean _every_ part of him before dressing him in white.

The tabi feel incredibly thin, and as per the tradition he’s been told that they’re thin so any chance of running would result in injury, any blood spilled would appease the omukade.

He’s decidedly less happy about it, knowing that his feet will need medical attention when he comes out. Still, he’s had worse, and the extra money saved will help him out.

The atmosphere as he walks towards the path leading into the forest is tense, anticipatory, and Tobirama just feels a little weirded out. It’s not as though omukade actually _exist_. But he came here to learn more about the culture, about the traditions, so he’s more excited than anything else to be able to be a part of this.

The thin tabi makes Tobirama walk slowly as the path becomes less worn down and more roots and stones. His hands are outstretched to feel for the trees and shift branches away from him. It’s uncomfortable, but pre-heats where he has to wear clothing always are. There’s running water somewhere to his left, and that means at least a light area, since the thick leaves block most of the moonlight.

Tobirama finds the bank of the river with only some difficulty. There’s most assuredly a thorn stuck in one of his heels and his hands feel like he’s been rubbing them on pumice, but he’s made it.

He trips over the last step out of the thinning edge of the forest and curses slightly. Out of frustration, Tobirama kicks a pebble out of his way with enough force to fly right into a large, almost _shiny_ rock.

Hashirama’s head comes up at the distinct crack of something bouncing off the hard carapace of one of his segments. His antennae wave, and he gives the air a sniff. All he smells is the blood of his kill, the last scraps of which his mandibles are stuffing into his mouth. He sneezes softly when some of the fur goes up his nose.

He can't feel much through the heavy plating, and he dreads to think his newly molted trunk is already getting scratched. He's actually very proud of the deep dried blood brown of the segments and the sunset orange of all his legs.

He turns with the intention of investigating and ensuring nothing has been damaged when something far more interesting catches his eye.

There's a little ningen standing on the other side of the river. It's a pale little thing, dressed in ceremonial robes. Hashirama frowns, antennae twitching. The tabi are _filthy_.

He looks around, checking the shadows for other ningen; he knows they so rarely travel alone and that the little ones are always fiercely protected. He may be new to this territory, having taken it over from a much older, smaller omukade shortly before his molt, but to his experience ningen are nothing but trouble.

This one is obviously alone; but that doesn't explain why it's all the way out here. And why it's dressed in such an impractical colour in the middle of the spring rainy season. And why its tabi are so disgustingly _dirty_.

Hashirama has no idea what it _wants_. He can smell it now, deliciously sweet and welcoming in a manner that evokes the urge to mate or to _feast_. He stares at it, muttering to himself and trying to decide whether it's going to be dinner or not.

But...Hashirama has just eaten, and while it looks an easy target and certainly smells delicious, something in him doesn't think it's for eating. His body is far more interested in other possibilities, and he discreetly hides his open slit and hard cock behind his first two legs.

It’s staring at him, gaping like a carp, and Hashirama takes a guess as to what it's doing here:

"Do you want new tabi?"

 _Because the ones you have now are absolutely disgustingly filthy and my feet curl just looking at them_ , he thinks, glaring at the offending likely-once-white-but-now-brown socks.

Tobirama stares, uncaring of how unflattering his face is. There’s—it’s—

He didn’t think the villagers were _right_ about the omukade! In the faint glow of the moon he can see the shine of the “rocks” that are actually part of the long body.

And it—it _talked_.

It asked him a question and Tobirama’s Japanese is certainly not up for the task. He thinks he may have...offended the yokai with his tabi? He’s not sure, but it’s leveling a rather impressive glare towards his feet. Perhaps it wants to eat his feet?

Completely out of his depth and feeling like he’s stepped into some weird land where myths are real, Tobirama reevaluates all his life choices. The question he was asked (and it certainly _was_ a question) still needs an answer. Because of the tone, Tobirama assumes he hasn’t otherwise offended the great beast by _kicking a rock into it_.

“Ah, my tabi?” Tobirama shakily says, his entire vocabulary completely wiped from his mind, leaving him flailing. “They are filthy.”

 _Fuck_ , Tobirama is going to die right here, all because he doesn’t understand the rumbling, pitched, _archaic_ Japanese the yokai seems to want to speak to him. He doesn’t even know if this is a test. Is it? Nothing in his limited web searches _said_ that omukade play tricks and test people.

He tamps down on a whine building in his throat. The pre-heat is muddling his mind while the adrenaline brings focus only to select things. Reaching deep, replaying the words over and over in his mind brings snippets of words and meanings but Tobirama supposes that he needs to actually _answer_.

“Y-Yes?”

Oh no, Tobirama’s _definitely_ in trouble.

Hashirama’s not heard such strange pronunciation ever in his life. It's so loose, so...uncultured and boorish. The syllables are clumsy and there's an odd twist to some of the sounds; this ningen is a _foreigner_.

Hashirama's never encountered something so _adorable_.

He bridges the river easily, tail feet curling and gently pressing against his silk gland and drawing out several puffy strands as he bends his body in half and holds one hand out for the little ningen’s foot.

He steadies it when it wobbles, quietly musing about the downsides of only having two legs, so impractical and unstable. It looks nervous, cringing at the brush of his leg against its clothes, but Hashirama’s not offended.

The tabi are removed, and he frowns at the pink pads, obviously sore and just shy of bleeding. At least his silk isn't coated in the sticky stuff he's seen spiders use, so the new tabi will come off easily without hurting the fragile little feet.

The silk conforms with a soft rustle, and Hashirama’s rear feet wrap it briskly with experience. He's very careful not to touch the ningen's skin, because they've only known each other for two minutes and Hashirama doesn't want to be _rude_. He has an erection already, anyway, and he's not going to make it worse.

He looks his work over carefully once both feet are done and uses it as an excuse to lean in and draw in more of that wonderful smell. His antennae reach out to trace the little ningen's face, and he studiously ignores how it jumps like a frightened rabbit.

"I think," he says as he wraps his arms around the little ningen and brings it up close," I'm going to take you home. You only wanted foot wrappings, after all, and it's far too cold for you to go back now."

His tail feet are already binding it in place up against his chest where it will be safe, and Hashirama pats it when it makes a strangled noise, encouraging it to press its face against his neck.

"Maybe I should keep you. I've never had a ningen before, you're bound to be entertaining. Anyway, I don't think you should go back if they sent you out in the middle of the night. You smell absolutely delicious, and you never know what's out and about here at night. You're very lucky I found you."

He pats it like he's seen Madara do to other neko, scratching at it's scalp as he turns toward the copse of dead fallen trees he's made into home.

* * *

Tobirama feels dazed, pressed up against an _actual_ yokai. Especially with his sensitive skin that’s becoming less pain and more _tingly pleasant_. It’s with a sinking realization that his heat is starting.

And he’s squished up against a being much stronger than him, face pushed into a neck that’s positively _oozing_ alpha and freshly turned earth and petrichor. Tobirama pants as he attempts to keep his attention on the yokai, on the omukade that has him trapped and pinned against a chest and the beginning of what must be the centipede lower half.

The touches do nothing to quell the burn starting in his veins, and he makes one last desperate sound before pressing his nose against cool skin. He trembles as he’s held, desperate for _friction_ and not remembering the exact reason why the strong alpha holding him isn’t suitable to breed him.

Whining, Tobirama wriggles just to feel those arms—so, so many arms—tighten around him. There's a niggling thought that one person couldn't possibly have _so many_ —a thought that morphs into a picture of a handsome man with insect-like appendages and a long, powerful lower body of a centipede where human legs should be. When his now hard and leaking and sensitive cocklet catches on something, he gasps and loses his train of thought. Even through the clothes he’s wearing, it’s arguably the best sensation he’s ever felt. His breath hitches as he rolls his hips again.

“Please, please, please—” Tobirama’s interrupted by a curious noise, and somewhere deep he knows he needs to speak the _right_ word, same meaning, different sounds. After a moment, it finally comes to him.

“ _Please_ —please!”

"What is it, ningen-kun? Is something the matter?"

Hashirama is a little worried that the ningen could be sick; they're so _fragile_ and this one is so small and so soft. He would have no idea how to help it if it was, and he's already getting attached.

He spends the journey home trying to soothe it, stroking it's back and grooming its hair with his mandibles. It doesn't stop the pleading, and the slim hips are still wriggling up against his slit in a way that does embarrassing things to Hashirama.

He makes an explosive sound of relief when they get home, wriggling into the little wooden cave. He knows when he's under the weather he feels better once he's had a curl up and a nap. Maybe that's what the ningen needs.

His feet lift away the silk, leaving it to flutter to the floor as he strips away the ceremonial wear that is so impractical, hushing the little dandelion puff.

It panics a little as he begins to wrap it up for bed in loose silk, but he's strong enough to subdue it until it's up to its chin in silk and Hashirama has curled around it and tugs it close.

"I hope you feel better tomorrow," he says, running his mandibles through its hair.

Tobirama experiences a vast array of emotions in a short amount of time. The more notable ones being relief, when he finally gets out of the itchy clothing, and then terror, when he’s being cocooned. The material is at least soft and silky enough for it not to bother his sensitive skin, but he _can’t move_.

Whining does nothing except to have the alpha taking care of him shush him and run his hands through his hair. He can’t—he needs—

Tobirama can’t even shift his hips; the strong grasp on him hasn’t eased in the slightest and he can only shiver as he waits out the first wave of his heat.

Eventually—mercifully—Tobirama trembles himself to sleep, strangling whines and pleas for help that go unanswered.

He wakes up with a few moments where he forgets where he is, until the fire inside him _roars_ and his attempts to move fail horribly, and the memories slot back into place and he panics because he’s trapped and at the mercy of a monster—

There’s no attempt at controlling the whines and whimpers as Tobirama wriggles ineffectively in the silken wrappings.

Hashirama is woken in the middle of the day to wriggling and squirming. The noise is very unlike his usual dinner parcel, on the rare occasions that he does decide to wrap it in silk and store it for later, and it takes him a moment to remember.

Hashirama promptly props himself when he remembers he caught—found—a little ningen. Which he is very reluctant to eat, for whatever reason. He blinks blearily and stares down at the little silken parcel and the snowy puff sticking out of the top, and yawns.

"What is it, ningen-kun? Hmm? Why are you up?"

He pets it, dipping his head to split the tougher binding silk with his mandibles. It whines at him, but Hashirama is too distracted by the curling scent of something decidedly _divine_ drifting up to his nose.

"You smell like the best kind of breakfast," he says sincerely, voice warm with compliment and belly stirring with hunger. His cock is awake too, slowly sliding out of its sheath and making Hashirama’s legs tremble with the sensation of it.

Hashirama rears up, back legs tearing through the thinner silk—

And almost collapses on top of the little ningen. His lips part, mandibles rubbing against his tongue, a long strand of drool escaping to pool on a pale chest between _breasts_.

"Oh," he whispers breathlessly, "you're a female." A pause as he looks down to double check, frowning at what he finds. There _is_ a cock there, barely a quarter of the size of his own and much more slender. It's bobbing and twitching, leaking clear strings of pre-come.

But that isn't all. There's a slit below the adorable little member, puffy and pink and bracketed with fleshy lips.

"Male _and_ female. You're a very special little morsel, aren't you, ningen-kun."

Hashirama leans down, lips parting as he dips in for a taste of pale skin, sniffing to draw in the scent of spring growth and fertility. There's something else there, too, something warm that he has no name for but knows is their normal scent, almost completely overridden.

He drinks it all in, saliva trailing across bare skin as he noses his way to its belly, so soft and vulnerable, and brushes his fangs over the skin.

Fear and lust run through Tobirama as the yokai’s face _opens up_ and drool falls on his chest. Now that he’s out of his bindings, he’s twisting, arching up at the touch that slides lower. He’s sure that that mouth can rip right into the soft flesh of his stomach, but his instincts absolutely _love_ the touch.

Perhaps it’s because he’s never laid with anyone, let alone an alpha while he’s in heat.

The touch is exploratory, and Tobirama shakes as it moves lower still, his instincts telling him he needs to roll over, needs to present—

His hips give an involuntary twitch as his legs spread to give the alpha more room. Tobirama’s face flushes in embarrassment at his body’s desperation. At least until that inhuman mouth finally reaches between his legs. Then Tobirama keens and shamelessly spreads his legs further apart, his heat burning hot in his veins and the _need_ growing stronger and stronger.

There’s curious touches, but they’re not—they’re not where Tobirama _needs_ it, and he resorts to begging.

“Please, please— _fuck_ —” Tobirama sucks in a breath at the first, almost ticklish touch. It’s feather light but it makes him tense up, unwilling to move under the promise of potentially more.

Then something long abruptly runs up his sticky, wet pussy and Tobirama cries out.

The touch stops just as abruptly and Tobirama is dazed, confused, wondering why alpha stopped and he whines.

"Oh kami!"

Hashirama's head jerks up from where he's been—uh, _sampling_ the wares, eyes casting about wearily. He doesn’t see kami very often; not the big ones that are a danger to him. The kodama, which are absolutely everywhere, are no danger to him.

"Where?"

He doesn’t _see_ anything, can't smell anything but the ningen's delightful scent, but Hashirama’s not about to get caught with his cock out.

His antennae wave and curl, and when there's still nothing he looks down at the mewling female-male that's grabbing his arms.

"Ningen-kun?"

Tobirama paws weakly at the alpha who was just touching him, that he needs to _continue touching him_. He throws back his head to fully expose his neck, allows his needy scent out, tinged with the distress he's feeling bone-deep.

"Please—!!" Tobirama's head rolls from side to side as he tries ineffectively to roll over to present himself.

The alpha is _strong_ and Tobirama can only pant in lust as he imagines being _bred_ and kept and filled—

His whine reaches a fevered pitch as his cunt clenches around _nothing_ when there should be something there.

Hashirama rumbles, slowly following the insisting hands and settling himself back atop the little ningen. He...thinks he understands, at last, what they want. He's not entirely sure of how this will work, because the ningen is a little small and he's not had any outstanding results even with bigger ningen.

But then again, this one is different. More male than female, and they smell far more enticing. At least Hashirama’s not going to have trouble trying, not with how hard he is now.

"I see," he murmurs, aligning their slits. "You want to _mate_."

 _That's easy_ , he thinks, slowly sliding into a wet passage that's almost unbearably tight and hot. He barges right past the faint resistance, ignoring the squirming and pressing in until finally there's resistance that doesn't give despite his insistent nudging.

Hashirama huffs, leans down, and does what his instincts dictate.

He sinks teeth and mandibles into a hot, sweet smelling swell on the ningen's neck.

Tobirama moans as something thick enters him, and his breath hitches when it _keeps going_ and takes all of his virginity in one steady thrust. His entire body is tense, trembling as instincts send tingling pleasure of _right_ through him.

Then a sharp burst of pain from his neck has Tobirama coming undone, squirting and clenching down, arching into the alpha holding him. He whimpers when it crosses the line of pain, however his alpha doesn’t seem to be slowing down at all.

All Tobirama can do is simply cling and let wave after wave of pleasure-tinged pain roll over him. Panting and gasping, his neck throbs as a tongue presses against it. Several smaller orgasms are wringed from him, causing the squelching noises to reach _truly_ obscene levels. The alpha seems to appreciate how tight he gets with each progressive one.

The larger peak of pleasure sneaks up on Tobirama, and he keens as he comes, scrabbling to get a hold of the alpha and canting his hips to take the alpha as deep as possible. He purrs at the first feeling of something _hot_ inside him, every inch of him satisfied as his base instincts are fulfilled.

Hashirama thinks he understands now why there are so many ningen. If it feels this good every time they mate, he'll be breeding this one as often as he can. The wet heat swallows him down, convulses pleasurably and sprays delightful smelling wetness against his belly.

He groans, prehensile tip digging deeper until there's a give that makes his instincts _sing_. His hooks extend, prying the ningen open for him to cries of pleasure and even tighter squeezes.

At last he's fully sheathed, hooks pressing and palpitating to stimulate his mate. His legs rasp down the length of his body, the first pair pinning the ningen's own to his sides. They seem to like it, judging by the way they’ve begun swallowing around him.

Hashirama peaks with a growl as he's milked, cock bulging and convulsing as he begins to release his seed deep inside the hot clutch of his new mate.

He releases the flesh in his mouth, rearing up to watch as the ningen's belly grows with every stream of his seed.

"I can't wait to do this again and again until you're carrying for me."

* * *

Tobirama doesn’t become aware of _time_ or that his body has any other need asides from breed _breed **breed**_ until the fourth morning since stepping foot inside the forest. And only then, it’s the feeling of something wet touching his lips that wakes him up more than anything else.

A deep breath in and he chases that wet thing despite his closed eyes.

There’s a chuckle but Tobirama ignores it easily enough, his body sore and mind telling him he’s well-protected. The water is crisp and cool and soothes his scratchy throat. It dribbles down his chin in his eagerness. When it pulls away he makes a distressed noise, only for a hum this time, a moment longer, and then more water is being brought for him to drink. 

This time he drinks slower, and sighs when it leaves. He turns his head away when more is brought up to his lips. Perhaps a little later, Tobirama thinks as he licks his lips, and he’ll make some food for the alpha he unwittingly lured back to his apartment for his heat.

The details are fuzzy, as they typically are for his heats, but since he can’t actually _remember_ coming out of the forest after he wandered in, he can only assume someone found him. And, based on _scent_ —that someone is a very attractive alpha who decided to help him in more ways than simply bringing him home.

Of course, Tobirama isn’t sure whether _he_ said anything, either. All _he_ has are disjointed pre-heat induced hallucinations of meeting an actual omukade and getting asked if he...wanted new socks. Ridiculous. As if a yokai, if they _did_ exist, would be offended enough by his tabi to _ask to make him new ones_.

That’s not to mention the whole ‘stole him away and decided to keep him like a little pet’ _thing_.

Mmm. Tobirama thinks he’ll _respectfully_ decline to participate in this festival again. Or at least not when he’s in pre-heat.

Hashirama admires his catch, trailing a hand over their seed swollen belly. _A job well done_ , he thinks proudly. The little ningen is lax and sated, resting on a bed of silk bound moss that he's taken the liberty of preparing.

He waters them slowly and gently, propping them up with a few legs so they don't choke. They're quite beautiful, sweaty and sticky from the four days and nights of vigorous mating, glittering in shafts of muted moonlight, hair sticking up in all directions. Their skin is only a shade darker than the silk, flushed a light pink, bruising purple and smeared with red from Hashirama’s bites.

He leans down to nuzzle them, inhaling their slowly changing scent. His stomach decides now is the best time to remind him he's not eaten, growling loudly.

"Sorry, you just smell very appetising."

Tobirama startles at the sudden voice, but then his brow furrows at the accent. At least now Tobirama knows where he got the inspiration for the omukade’s voice. Then their words sink in and Tobirama huffs, tilting his head just a little bit to accommodate the nuzzling.

“That’s o—” Tobirama cuts himself off with a squeak as he opens his eyes.

He freezes, taking in the sight before him with wide eyes.

There’s—there’s _no way_ —

Except there’s no other explanation because when the alpha lifts his head, a confused look to an otherwise inhuman face, Tobirama knows this isn’t a dream. The omukade, it’s—

 _It’s actually real_.

Which means that Tobirama just lost his virginity, had the best heat he’s ever had, _to a yokai_. To an _omukade_. And if the face right in front of his face isn’t proof enough, looking away (which is very, very hard to do when the mockery of a human face is _almost_ not noticeable) Tobirama finds the _antennae_ , the body that’s half a long, long centipede with many, many legs.

That are supporting him.

His hands fist into the bedding below him and he winds up petting it because it’s probably the softest thing he’s ever touched, and he really, _really_ wants to look at it, but the omukade just said he smells delicious.

“Are you going to eat me?” Tobirama whispers, because he needs to know the answer, needs to know whether he’s about to go down that shifting, multi-jointed jaw.

"No! I only meant to say you smell very nice. You could get into all sorts of trouble out there, especially as vulnerable as you are now. You're very small, ningen-kun, even compared to other ningen that I've encountered."

Hashirama huffs, frowning at the suddenly very different reception he's getting. His mandibles reshuffle timidly, and he's never been shy about them before but suddenly he worries he might be a little...frightening. He tucks his fangs in a little tighter, hiding the sharp points from view.

"No," he growls. "We've just mated. But...I know you only wanted tabi, and you probably want to go back even though they sent you out on your own in the middle of the night, when any number of yokai could have taken you."

Hashirama growls shuffling his legs and curling a little more, affecting nonchalance as he picks off a bit of moss from one of his claws.

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave when you may endanger our eggs."

He will provide for them of course, but they're not leaving. He'll bind them and tie them down if he needs to.

Tobirama stares, only just able to keep his mouth from gaping.

“Our…?” Tobirama trails off, unable to speak the words himself. He doesn’t remember reading anything about yokai and _breeding_.

Surely he misunderstood.

But the way Tobirama feels those legs curl tighter against him, he knows. Alphas are notorious for being just as much, if not _more_ protective than omegas when it comes to offspring.

He’s reeling from the implications that there might be _other yokai_ out there, other things that could be lurking. Suddenly, he understands why the entire village seemed to take the festival so seriously. Privately, he wonders if this omukade is the reason there’s no other omegas.

“I see. Thank you for your help with my heat.” Tobirama says, for lack of anything better to say.

Tobirama gives a tentative smile towards the yokai; it wouldn’t do to be rude to the yokai if it’s the one going to be taking care of him for the next however long.

“Ah! Forgive me, my name’s Tobirama.”

"Hashirama," he returns, dipping his head in a shallow bow. He's not familiar with the 'heat' Tobirama speaks of, but it's easy enough to connect it to the breeding frenzy he's just seen them through. Though he must ask...

"You are both male and female, Tobirama-kun, though you will be haha-ue to the eggs. How would you like me to refer to you?"

Hashirama does his best to avoid grinning, as his usual friendly demeanour would dictate, in an effort to make the ningen more comfortable. He would like his mate to enjoy his company, and he is eager to get to know Tobirama.

“Nice to meet you, Hashirama-sama.” Tobirama says by rote, despite this situation being anything but.

He’s again struck by the use of the word _eggs_ because there’s clearly a lot Tobirama simply doesn’t understand about yokai. But he supposes that yokai need to reproduce _somehow_.

Questionable pregnancy aside, Tobirama is at least thankful that he can pick out and understand keywords in Hashirama’s speech. There’s already enough of a language barrier as it is.

“You can call me however you’d like.” It’s not as though Tobirama would have much of a choice, anyways.

Hashirama leans down and does his best not to be hurt when the ningen shies away a little, unconsciously exposing his neck and the enormous chain of bloodied bites there. He licks carefully until Tobirama’s muscles relax a little, setting on his side over his mate.

"Will I need to worry about you running when I leave to feed?" he asks, smoothing a broad palm over the pale, swollen abdomen. He nibbles at Tobirama's hair, grooming it gently and sucking bruises along his neck.

"You're carrying my seed, and I will be able to smell you wherever you go. Don't leave, Tobirama. Let me take care of you, at least until you've laid. You have my word I'll let no harm come to you, even from myself."

Hashirama is hard again behind his genial plates, cock pulsing with early evening lust and the want to relearn the mate who seems to have come back to himself and whose heart is beating like a hummingbird's wings.

Tobirama isn’t sure whether he can actually _trust_ Hashirama, but there’s little alternative. Having just finished his heat makes him especially tired, and his instincts definitely approve of having such an alpha watch over him. The hands running all over his body only add to the confusion.

“I’ll—” Tobirama clears his throat and continues whispering, “I’ll stay.”

He gets an answering rumble and another, longer, tickling sensation as his hair is _groomed_. Then Hashirama is pressing closer, curling around him. His breath hitches when he’s covered and something decidedly _not_ one of Hashirama’s legs presses up against his pussy. It easily slips inside, since Tobirama’s still wet from both slick and come.

“A-Ah, wait—nngh!” Tobirama cuts himself off when the strange cock reaches some deep part of him.

Tobirama clings to Hashirama, panting and unable to move. He’s so _sensitive_ and he’s never ever had a heat partner before, so getting fucked when he’s not riding the high of his instincts is embarrassing. Gasping, he squeezes his eyes shut as Hashirama starts to move.

Hashirama tries to be gentle about it, easing Tobirama’s legs up around his waist as he props himself up on his hands to watch his mate and make sure he's not hurt. He seems to enjoy it, though he turns his face away shyly as his cheeks turn a beautiful pink.

Hashirama purrs with pleasure, huffing at the wet souns of their mating, drooling a little at the sight of Tobirama’s glorious belly below him. It sways gently with his thrusts and the weight of the seed within, and Hashirama groans at the thought of Tobirama even larger than he is now. Hashirama knows ningen don't have many offspring at a time, but all the same he wants Tobirama full to bursting with eggs. His belly would balloon out, and soon Hashirama will keep him in the nest, until finally he lays the eggs _he’s_ putting in him and they can start again—

He breeches the final ring of the swollen barrier to his egg pouch, grunting at the squeeze as his hooks palpitate the heated walls and his cock swells and convulses.

The first wash is voluminous and long, and Tobirama stares down at his belly as it expands before his eyes. Hashirama purrs encouragingly, grinding in until he's stopped actively seeding.

Finally he pulls out, leaning down to nip Tobirama’s hair, smiling at the loud slurp and wet sound of his come leaking out in streams.

"I shall return shortly," he says, sensing for a rabbit to bring for his mate.

* * *

All Tobirama can do is stare at the long body of the yokai in disbelief. Even after getting fucked for several days, and again just now, it all feels so surreal. And right now, he’s _leaking_. All over the silks he’s been placed on.

Any attempts to shift his legs, to move on his side or _anything_ is met with floods and floods of more come being squished out of him. He resigns himself to laying in a puddle and covers his face with his hands.

It’s mortifying.

What’s worse is that he can’t even see any scrap of the clothing he was wearing, and therefore he has to lay there completely naked until Hashirama returns.

It certainly doesn’t take Hashirama long to return, and Tobirama feels his face flush again, but the chance of food has him quickly focusing. There’s more communication issues but thankfully a fire is built and he has a delicious, cooked rabbit he’s greedily munching on. It makes his already bloated abdomen feel even bigger, but that won’t be an issue for too much longer. 

There’s absolutely no way that he could ever carry or be compatible with a _yokai_. Maybe once that’s clear to Hashirama, he’ll be able to return to the village.

“Thank you, Hashirama, for the food.” Tobirama shifts, self-conscious of the squish between his legs, “I’m sorry for getting your silks dirty.”

Hashirama beams at his ningen, antennae dropping in happiness. His mate is so beautiful, belly flat again and scattering seed that has done its job. It feels...good; to finally mate successfully. He knows this will take, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"That's alright. Why don't I carry you to bathe, and while you're grooming I'll tidy the nest for you."

He doesn’t give Tobirama the opportunity to say no, wraps him in a loose sheet of silk to wear like a gossamer cloak as he lifts the boy into his arms and carries him to the hot springs a little ways away from his nest.

Hashirama leaves Tobirama there, assured by the wobble in his walk that he won't get far, and returns to re-weave the bed. He brings it up for a discreet sniff, relishing the scent of a successful breeding, before he tosses it out and bundles up the inside of the bedding, silk string at the ready.

It’s calming, the purposeful weaving of his mates’ bed. He loses himself in it a little, daydreaming about Tobirama with a belly round with eggs, resting in his silk and fed with his effort cuddled up among their first brood.

 _Yes_ , he decides, _if this clutch goes well he's staying_. The forest gets...lonely.

Washing himself is a trial, made all the more embarrassing when he reaches his sensitive inner thighs, but the natural hot spring feels _heavenly_ and all Tobirama can do once he’s actually in the water is sigh.

He dithers about even after his skin is bright red and lightheadedness sets in. It’s not as though he’s _worried_ that the yokai won’t keep his word, but he can’t help but think about what might happen to him should he _not_ be carrying.

Automatically his hand reaches towards his flat stomach. Would he even know if he _was_ carrying?

Hashirama catches him like that, hand on his stomach, and _grins_. At least, Tobirama is assuming, given how Hashirama’s...jaw...moves.

The thin silk he’s given to wear is a small comfort, and he spends his time admiring it as he’s carried back to the den.

The next few days are tense for Tobirama, since he’s not sure, exactly, what Hashirama’s waiting for. Will he stay until he’s either showing or goes into heat again? The question weighs on his mind, but at least it’s getting easier and easier to understand Hashirama, which is a plus. He also doesn’t make for too bad company.

It’s...nice, in a rather obscure way. His instincts preen at being taken care of, and he gets a very, very interesting conversation partner who isn’t afraid of explaining _everything_ and then some. He’s learning more about history and yokai than he’s ever thought possible.

After a week, Tobirama starts to suspect that he’s not carrying, since nothing has changed, he doesn’t _feel_ any different, but when he sits up, he instantly flops back down with a groan, swallowing in an attempt to keep the nausea at bay.

The water Hashirama brings is a relief, and he sips at it lightly, allowing Hashirama to prop him up. Nibbling on the small bits of jerky (that Tobirama is surprised Hashirama knew how to make), Tobirama stares at his stomach as if he could see into himself and what might be _growing_ there.

He’s still holding out a slim hope that he might just be nauseous from the different foods, from the different water he’s drinking, rather than _pregnant_.

Only time will tell.

Hashirama runs his antennae over the flatness of Tobirama’s belly, hands smoothing after them. The nausea has only confirmed what he has known for a week now; Tobirama is pregnant.

Within the belly of his mate, under soft skin and firm muscle, his offspring are growing. Their first clutch of soft, round eggs that Hashirama will guard with his life.

He wonders for a moment where Madara has gotten to; Hashirama is nothing if not talkative, and he's itching to tell his friend the good news. But first he must attend to his mate and the growing clutch within.

Tobirama has been craving flesh already, which is a very good sign, though he seems reluctant to eat it _uncooked_ , despite Hashirama’s encouragement that that is what the brood needs. But Hashirama knows that some battles are won with patience.

Tobirama doesn’t want to admit it, but after the third consecutive day of nausea, of watching almost _disappointed_ as Hashirama cooks meat, he has to. He’s pregnant. And not just a _normal_ baby, either, but whatever the yokai has seeded him with.

 _Eggs_ , he thinks almost hysterically. Does that mean he’ll have to _lay_ them, or will they hatch and wriggle their way out? Tobirama doesn’t know which one would be preferable.

The shifting Tobirama’s associated with Hashirama’s many legs rasping against the wood sounds out, and he quickly realizes that he’s been _stroking_ his belly. Heat flares on his cheeks as the yokai gives him an obvious once-over where he’s sitting on a bed of silks.

A deer this time is clasped in that powerful, shifting jaw, and Tobirama’s mouth waters.

It’s dropped far enough out of reach, and Tobirama shifts anxiously as Hashirama goes about making a fire. His lips are red from being bitten so much but he finally speaks out when Hashirama shifts the deer closer for cooking.

“Ah, you don’t have to.” Tobirama’s quiet, unsure _why_ he feels like a man-eating yokai would think his request is strange and judge him for it. “Just a small piece—to try. Please, Hashirama.”

His stomach is in knots as Hashirama plucks out a piece the size of his hand—hardly _small_ by his standards but tiny to the large omukade—and places it in Tobirama’s outstretched palms.

Hashirama’s watching him, coiling up in a little pile but stretched out enough to encircle the deer still. There’s nothing for it, Tobirama lifts the chunk of meat and takes a bite.

Hashirama can't help the flutters of pride in his chest at the sight of his mate nibbling tentatively before being obviously taken aback by how much his body _wants_ the raw venison. Tobirama hardly chews before he swallows and turns wide, shocked eyes to Hashirama.

He smiles happily and begins to make quick work of chewing off manageable size strips, watching avidly as he, too, begins to feast. By the time his mandibles are stuffing the last leg bones down his throat, Hashirama’s cock is drooling at the sight.

He spreads Tobirama’s legs eagerly, kneading the soft flesh as his cock spurts lines off pre-come over his mate. He strokes himself for a moment, positions his cock to part those wet, swollen lips.

Tobirama squeaks and keeps his blood streaked hands over his mouth as Hashirama manhandles him. It’s...incredibly erotic, the way Hashirama smooths his hands up to bend Tobirama’s legs the way he wants them.

As soon as that cock enters him—Tobirama can’t stop the moan that comes out of him. All that does is cause Hashirama to focus on his face, his blood smeared mouth.

And then Hashirama’s jaw is unfolding, enveloping Tobirama’s hands and lower jaw as a large, velvety tongue laps at his fingers, at the blood coating them. Tobirama can only whimper as the yokai pushes further into his cunt, can only gasp as his hands get moved out of the way and his face is cleaned up.

By the time Hashirama pulls back, jaw settling back into some facade of a human one, Tobirama is incredibly turned on. Shifting his hips and clenching around that cock inside him, he hopes to get things going.

Hashirama will admit that he is enjoying teasing Tobirama—just a little. His mate is so wonderfully eager, moaning and sighing under him and squeezing his cock. He can't help admire the little ningen, pale skin marked with the red of blood and Hashirama’s bites.

"Beautiful," he hisses, slowly picking up the pace. His hands fall to Tobirama’s belly, smearing red blood over the still flat expanse of firm muscle and milky skin. His jaw opens and closes, tongue flicking over the strength of his mandibles at the thought of cleaning those eggs once they've been laid into his care.

Hashirama is careful not to disturb Tobirama’s breeding gate beyond gentle caresses as they mate, unwilling to risk his brood but unable to _not_ touch his ningen there. It's not long before they peak together, and Hashirama settles himself over his beloved to lick away the tacky streaks of blood.

* * *

It becomes routine, their post-meal lovemaking. 

Tobirama’s belly grows slowly and steadily, swelling with Hashirama’s progeny until he has trouble sitting up on his own. Hashirama, of course, is _delighted_ by such wonderful results, and quickly becomes equally enamoured by the other areas of Tobirama’s body that also grow.

However, the need to tend the eggs quickly becomes overwhelming, and Hashirama soon begins to spend almost all of his spare time with his tongue inside his mate in an attempt to quell the urges.

Today is no different. Hashirama fully intends to satisfy his need to clean the eggs when he returns to his mate. It's only when he detects the presence of another yokai that he abandons the thought entirely.

Tossing the deer aside at the edge of the clearing, Hashirama rushes into the nest to defend his mate. It's only once Tobirama is safe in his coils that Hashirama turns to see who has dared to disturb him.

"Madara."

Tobirama grows.

And grows.

And _grows_ until he’s sure that anatomy isn’t supposed to work like this, even as an omega. He can’t even roll over without help! At least Hashirama seems plenty enthralled enough to accommodate his new size—not to mention his fascination with Tobirama’s growing chest as well.

Hashirama spends plenty of time touching and fondling all of him, and also spends plenty of time with his head between Tobirama’s legs, long tongue causing Tobirama to pant. So much time, in fact, that Tobirama winds up falling asleep with Hashirama’s tongue still flexing with gentle presses inside his cunt.

As Tobirama waits for Hashirama to return with dinner, he idly wonders how many orgasms he’ll have after they eat. He wonders right up until Hashirama returns sans food and in a hurry, wrapping him up tight in his coils before calling out.

A shape emerges from the shadows and Tobirama stares at the newcomer. Cat ears and a tail—but assuredly human everywhere else—Tobirama has to put the designation _bakeneko_ to him. The bakeneko opens his mouth and starts talking and Tobirama sulks within Hashirama’s coils.

 _Zero_ , Tobirama thinks to himself, _zero orgasms all because a stupid **cat** showed up_.

Madara hasn’t lived as long as he has _without_ an abundance of caution; caution which tells him now that his friend is on the defensive. And it has everything to do with the morsel he’s hiding in his coils.

 _Not food then_ , Madara wagers as he stares at the loose coils and lack of screams. Another, more attentive sniff and Madara places the human as _bearer_.

“Hashirama.” Madara greets readily enough, eyes staring at the rather slender human before shifting legs and body cover the human from view and forces him to look back at Hashirama’s face.

Hashirama stays silent, and Madara sighs mentally. The _one_ time Hashirama is actually reasonable, and it’s when Madara would actually like answers sooner rather than later.

“I came to check on you and the area reeked of ningen; I had hoped that your lack of care hadn’t made the ones you live next to wary enough to kill you.”

Not as though Madara himself is much better, but at least he travels around and doesn’t make big waves when he feeds.

Hashirama makes an unimpressed noise as he levels a long, contemptuous look at Madara. He _knows_ he's a little...friendly and overt, but he's really not that stupid.

He shuffles, considering his friend. They've known each other for centuries, but all the same, Hashirama can't fight his need to keep his brood safe and his mate well. But he _did_ want to show Madara his mate...

"No," he says, still high on his need to defend his brood. "I've found a mate, a ningen. His name is Tobirama, and he's with brood. That's why my den smells so nice."

Not that anyone _other_ than Madara would be stupid enough to enter the den of an omukade, even if he's not home. Madara looks at him expectantly, face carefully blank and body relaxed.

Slowly, carefully and warily, Hashirama lifts a coil and shuffles his legs so that Madara can see his beloved’s face.

Madara’s eyes narrow at Hashirama’s words. A _mate_. Honestly, Madara had forgotten that omukade tend to horde human mates. Bakeneko aren’t _born_ —they’re _made_. So Madara doesn’t understand all the hype to keep a stupid human around when all they do is cause destruction and then blame him—rightfully, of course, but it’s the _principle_ that counts.

However, Madara wasn’t born yesterday, and he keeps himself still at the obvious defensive gestures Hashirama is making. Even harder to do is to keep his expression from shifting as Hashirama’s body and legs part to reveal a very pale, very _pregnant_ human.

 _Leave it to Hashirama to find the smallest human ever and stuff it full of too many eggs_ , Madara thinks as he takes in the red-faced bearer.

“Congratulations.” Madara looks back to Hashirama and shifts his weight to his left paw, tail coming out to flick with the sincerity of his statement. “At least you’ve chosen an attractive one.”

Several things happen at once then.

Madara lifts his hand to rub at his nose, there’s a shout of surprise, and then Hashirama’s hands are on him, mandibles splayed wide and venom dripping onto Madara’s collarbone as Hashirama hisses at him.

Carefully, with his eyes trained on Hashirama’s nose, Madara affects a scowl despite his puffed up tail and ears.

“What, so I have to announce that I need to scratch my fucking nose in the presence of your mate now?” Madara curses the little shake in his voice, but the fear response is _entirely_ warranted; Hashirama is the biggest omukade Madara has ever seen—the strongest, too.

Hashirama takes a breath to gather himself and relax. He _knows_ Madara's not a threat, knows his friend is far from stupid, and that despite the bluster, he's really scared the bakeneko. Mandibles gather up any dripping venom and work it back into his mouth as his jaws close up. He takes a shaky breath and releases Madara.

"I—uh," he rears back up a little and gently helps his mate sit up with a few legs, "I left dinner outside. Tobirama, this is Madara, he _won't do anything to you_ because he knows I'll liquify his insides and suck them out through his eye sockets if he does. I'm going to get the food, and then I'll be back to make your silk, Madara."

He gives the other yokai a long look before he unwinds himself and scuttles out to fetch the deer corpse lying out on the edge of the clearing. He frowns when he returns to find Tobirama almost entirely red and Madara with that troublemaker smirk on his lips and makes a reproachful noise.

The nice thing about having a body as long as his is, is that Hashirama can curl comfortably around his ningen while he's busy. His back feet work strands of silk into thick silk thread as he begins to use his (carefully free of venom) mandibles to strip and bone the carcass.

Tobirama, of course, receives all the best cuts; meat marbled beautifully with fat, soft and easy to chew. He ignores Madara's contemptuous sniff. _Typical cat_ , he thinks to himself, _spoilt rotten_.

The teasing that the bakeneko—that _Madara_ gives him is absolutely terrible, made worse by the fact that Tobirama physically couldn’t _deny_ any of what the other said. Madara speaks with a surprisingly more modern language without Hashirama present, which only means Tobirama can _fully_ understand the remarks the bakeneko makes about his figure, about how it would take a full _year_ for Madara to even make a cut of cloth big enough to cover him.

_“Not that you need to be covered; I’m sure I’m not the only one who enjoys the sight.”_

Tobirama is more than relieved when Hashirama returns, and the promise of food helps Tobirama calm down.

Calm down, and give him an opportunity to observe Madara. For a moment, Tobirama could swear his eyes flashed red as clawed hands carefully started bundling up the silk thread.

Soon enough the food is gone, Tobirama covered in drops and streaks of blood. It’s routine now for Hashirama to clean him up that Tobirama himself can’t. But that routine means that his body is expecting _other things_ and he can do nothing but squirm as he gets horny, unwilling to speak up and ask the bakeneko to leave.

He must not be as good at controlling his scent, or perhaps the yokai simply can pick up on pheromones easier, but Tobirama definitely catches the looks that Hashirama _and_ Madara send his way. He can only whimper in response.

* * *

Hashirama hadn't been at all shy about satisfying Tobirama’s lusts with Madara present; had rather enjoyed it, in fact. His mates’ skin had turned the most breathtaking pink, and the gasps and moans he'd tried and failed to contain did wonders for Hashirama’s ego.

Madara sees fit to linger a little under the pretence that he wants a larger batch of silk but doesn't want to tire Hashirama out. Not that Hashirama minds; it means there's someone to guard his mate while Hashirama goes on more frequent, longer hunts to fatten up for the long fast that taking care of the eggs will put him in.

It’s not five minutes after he's returned from one such hunt that Tobirama begins to pant and groan. Hashirama knows instinctively that it's time for him to lay.

He's quick to roll onto his back and weave a bed between several of his legs for his mate to lie in, and a small nest for the eggs. Madara helps lift his very gravid ningen up into the prepared embrace, and Hashirama takes Tobirama’s hand.

Tobirama can’t say he’s _thrilled_ that Madara chose to stick around, but at least Tobirama never felt threatened. Only embarrassed as Hashirama decides to continue their lovemaking regardless of whether Madara is present and watching.

His situation inevitably changes when his stomach decides to cramp up. He can do nothing but pant and whine in pain while shivering. The change from the bedding on the ground to the freshly woven silk between Hashirama’s legs is welcome, despite the fact Tobirama can _feel_ himself leaking. But Hashirama has never begrudged him before for soiling the soft fibers.

So Tobirama just reclines further into Hashirama, nuzzling and taking comfort in the familiar scent. A pair of Hashirama’s legs rub his stomach and dip down towards Tobirama’s hips and back up. Hashirama’s hands rub against his sides, curling up towards his swollen, firm tits and if Tobirama was in any less pain, he would slap those hands away.

But as it is, he welcomes the distraction of the gentle prick of pain. Tobirama even welcomes _Madara’s_ hands on him, and where they slide down his stomach to rub against his thighs and his sensitive cocklet. It takes him by surprise, however Hashirama only shushes him with a kiss when he turns his head up to ask—this is the first time Madara has actually _touched_ him.

Then all the pain turns into pleasure and Tobirama is thankful for all the support given to him.

It's a long birth; there are over twenty eggs, and the laying of each is a peak in and of its own for Tobirama. Hashirama, for his part, is glad to see that the natural relaxant venom coating of the eggs has taken effect and eased the way for his mate.

At last Tobirama heaves a final sigh, and collapses back into his embrace. Between the pale, splayed legs and clasped carefully in a basket of Hashirama’s many red legs lie their brood.

The eggs are milky white, and Hashirama will spend the next two months keeping them moist and clean. Which means he won't be able to feed Tobirama...and that his ningen may leave.

"Tobirama," he whispers, drawing wide red eyes away from their clutch, "will you stay? You are my mate, and I wish to share every meal with you, and end every one of your 'heats' like this. Will you stay for me to love you?"

"Yes."

Madara yawns loudly and Hashirama kicks him for it as he dips to kiss his mate.


End file.
